Page 10 of Wild

Fox clears his throat and says, “Seriously, bro, this is our time. Weneedthis. We don’t need anything fucking it up.”

“Why do you guys assumeI’llbe the one to fuck it up?” I defend. I didn’t tell them about what happened in her room this morning so I don’t know why they’ve zeroed in on me as the problem child of the group.

Fox says softly. “We saw how you looked at her.”

Him and Rush exchange a glance and I snort. “How did I look at her?”

Rush tilts his head. “The same look you always get when you like a challenge.”

“We don’t need anything fucking this up,” Fox repeats quietly. “This might be our last chance.”

I grow quiet. I know he’s right. We’ve had moderate success, some singles that have done really well, but no actual album under our belt. Hell, I’m only twenty-five but time is ticking by on how long I, and the guys, can keep this up before we have to face reality and get ‘real’ jobs. Everyone tells you to follow your dreams, but dreams don’t always pay the bills.

I refuse to imagine a life where I fail. Wherewefail. We’ve fought too hard for this, and yes I can be a cocky bastard at times, but I’ve never, not once, believed we couldn’t do this. Hayes taking us under his wing, signing us to his record label, and being willing to produce our first record ishugefor The Wild.

It pisses me off they think I would do anything to jeopardize how hard we’ve worked to get to this point. Yeah, Mia intrigues me. And yes, under normal circumstances I’d have her under me in five seconds flat, but I’m not stupid. I know I can’t fuck this up.

They don’t say anything else, knowing they’ve pissed me off and shouldn’t push their luck. I don’t look up as they get up and leave, Rush surprisingly cleaning his plate and the one Mia left behind before he leaves.

I sigh, finishing my omelet even if I can hardly taste it now.

Nothing but sourness clings to my tongue.

* * *

An hourlater the four of us are piled into Hayes’s SUV headed for the studio. I sit up front and no one argues, they know I’m in a mood and it’s best to give me space. I’m also nervous. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I am. We’ve been in a recording studio before, sure, but never when it meant what it does today. The first step to a full-length album. There’s a lot riding on this. Our pride, our dreams, our futures. If we fail there is no fucking safety net to catch us. It’ll be a free fall straight down to the damn concrete.

I look broodingly out the passenger window at the passing mountains and farmland. It’s so different from the hustle and bustle of L.A. The guys and I all grew up in Tennessee, but we’ve been in California for so long now that the rolling hills of the Appalachian Mountains seem foreign. However, I’ll admit the quiet of the country is almost welcome.

The hour or so drive goes by in silence. I think after last night the guys are all scared to rock the boat with Hayes. I don’t blame them. He waspissed.

Hayes parks his SUV behind a building and then we follow him around the front whereMist Records & Studiois frosted on the window. Hayes unlocks the door and ushers us inside.

“I need a smoke first,” Cannon grumbles.

“Don’t be too long,” Hayes warns, and Cannon nods in response, already sticking a cigarette between his lips.

Cannon sends me a look, trying to gauge where my head is at. I give a subtle nod to let him know I’m okay.

The three of us follow Hayes inside the studio. From the outside it looked impossibly small, but inside it’s spacious. It opens up to a main room with original hardwood floors, tin ceilings, and brick walls painted white. Several mismatched sofas are strewn about, and one wall boasts pictures of the members of Willow Creek at different venues over the years. Looking at the photos I can see the bond they share, similar to the one I have with my friends. We’re friends before bandmates, and I think it makes all the difference.

Hayes starts down a hallway and we trail behind like good little soldiers. There are several recording spaces, and a common area with chairs and a small kitchen.

“Nice vibe,” Fox comments.

“Thanks,” says Hayes. “I’ll admit, Arden,” he refers to his wife, “and my friends’ wives helped decorate. Fuck knows I can’t decorate worth a shit.”

“Why Mist Records and Studio?” Rush asks as Hayes opens the door to one of the recording rooms. There’s a couch against the wall and a chair in front of all the studio equipment.

Hayes cracks a grin. “Inside joke,” is all he says.

The three of us take a seat on the couch and Hayes straddles the chair facing us with his arms draped over the back.

“We’ve already discussed the songs you all want on the album and I’ve approved them. It’s up to you to decide which one we start with. I want to get a single out there in the next couple of months, hopefully by the first of the year. Build hype for your first full-length album.”

The three of us exchange glances. We’ve already discussed this extensively as a group. We know Hayes gets the final say, but the fact he wants our input means a lot.

“We were thinkingMidnight Eyes,” I answer.

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